hsavinien: (Princess Bride - Have fun)
Hi.  Not dead, just being eaten alive by school.  I've got a major project presentation next Friday for my independent study, which is still very much a WIP.  ANYWAY.

Y'all should check out Ask Robins!, which is a hilarious tumblog comic starring (who else?) Batman's wards/sidekicks/offspring, who answer reader questions.  [livejournal.com profile] emmypenny , you in particular.  It is adorable and dorky.

Awesome poem from the genderqueerchicago blog called How To Make Love to a (Trans) Person.  I added the parentheses myself, because, really, it's about love and respect and sex with a person regardless of their gender identity or sex.  Thanks to my lady for linking me to it.

Thirdly, I have a book rec.  Lynne Truss, the author of Eats, Shoots & Leaves, has written another book about the phenomenon of rudeness.  Talk to the Hand: the utter bloody rudeness of the world today, or six good reasons to stay home and bolt the door is clever and funny and surprisingly thoughtful.

ALSO.  Once we all have time for ST_D again, I feel that our next adventure should be a Perfectly Proper Steampunk Star Trek adventure.  I have already half-begun composing Pike's orders from the British Imperial Admiralty about his mission in HMSS (Her Majesty's Star Ship) Enterprise to deal with a threat to their allies, the Vulcanians.  I'm thinking a combo of high naval adventure, Victorian diction, and pulp scifi tropes.

To [livejournal.com profile] podfic_lover , your story is not done yet, but I am having Ideas(tm).  Sorry for the wait, but RL is being unfortunate.
hsavinien: (Hamlet - Not madness)
Title: Darkness
Author: H. Savinien

You are my gentle, dark-winged angel
--soot-streaked and ragged.

You are a cloak about my shoulders
cushioning me against
the freezing concrete.
You are in those hours that are neither night,
nor yet morning,
because the weak sunlight hasn't crept in.
You are in the alley,
sharing the remnants of the painted cardboard box
against the grate.

You know I am
and you remember me.
hsavinien: (green eye)
Title: Un/certainty
Author: H. Savinien

Don’t let her smile touch the sides

on the way down.  It’ll burn your throat.

Un/certainty is a chancy thing

and hurts, acid patina on the inside

while the outside stays cheerful.

I care, I’m fond, but I can’t say love

because I’m not sure.  I’m never

sure.  But I care, and knowing her caring

burns.  It’s warm.

And terrifying.  Dangerous.

I don’t ever want to hurt you, but

How can I make sure?


Apr. 4th, 2007 10:32 pm
hsavinien: (not madness)
Scent Memory
by H. Savinien

The smell of peat smoke is

dark and

              sweet and


tickling the back of nose and

throat.  Mixing with

sharp salt

and the smell of rain

(somewhere between wet iron

and the beginning of mildew),

the pictures slide into place.

With mental                   clicks

less like the tumblers of a lock

and more like stones in an

u   n   m   o   r   t   a   r   e   d


they separate into neat,


patches of memory.


Sep. 18th, 2006 12:22 am
hsavinien: (Default)
By H.Savinien

I am floating in the books of None,

authored all by Might-Have-Been.

The wisdom of the world Unknown:

a thought Undreamed, a dream Undone,

a thousand million words Unsaid.

There is Notime, Nowhere to record

th’ Uncertain truths as yet Unfound.

No-one lived the life of Nameless love,

And Tuneless song, Unheard, resounds.

hsavinien: (Default)
A poem that I have writ.


I dive into the disk of air, 
  ether surrounding me,
supporting me until my
  wings snap, pinions crackling,
disintegrating into glittering
  dust that trails my fall.
Afraid of the ground,
  or, at least, of meeting it,
my tail loops around
  rough-skinned arm of
an oak. Surprised, he
  asks me to introduce me
before becoming intimate and
  sets me on an ash, who pokes
and pulls. Discomfited, I jerk
  from her grasp, leaving her
the strip of fur that stopped
  my fall, and land on dark
hooves, bolt away into the dusk.

May 2017

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